


Upping the Ante

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Indentured Servitude, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Sir Anthony of Stark, returning to the capital of the kingdom, comes across a traveling medicine man and fortuneteller who is keeping a man in chains.   As it is the duty of a knight to right wrongs,  Anthony  investigates and ends up with more than he bargained for.





	Upping the Ante

**Author's Note:**

> Name of Piece: Upping the Ante  
> Square Filled: A4 Sex Pollen (Tony Stark Bingo) and B3 - Imprisonment (WinterIron Bingo Adventure)  
> Pairing: Tony Stark/James “Bucky” Barnes  
> Rating: Explicit (but not til the last bit)  
> Warnings: semi-slavery, implied non-con, eventual smut  
> Summary: Sir Anthony of Stark, returning to the capital of the kingdom, comes across a traveling medicine man and fortuneteller who is keeping a man in chains. As it is the duty of a knight to right wrongs, Anthony investigates and ends up with more than he bargained for.
> 
> \------  
> Many thanks to the awesome @hddnone/Marvelous Menagerie for their rockstar beta work on this fic!

It had been raining most of the day and despite his waxed linen cloak, Sir Anthony had gotten wet enough to be miserable. He was still two days’ travel from the capital, and while his sturdy mount was more than capable of covering the distance, Anthony’s own endurance was wearing thin. He’d been away for over a month on a diplomatic trade assignment and was longing for home. The deserted road had provided little to stimulate his mind, and the dreary weather added to its godforsaken air.

In the mist ahead of him, he spotted an enclosed wagon followed by a man afoot. Various healing and mystical symbols were painted on its sides along with the words ‘Master Zola’. Anthony was well aware that these so-called practitioners had only the most basic of medical and alchemical knowledge; charlatans selling herb flavored spirits at best, poisons at worst. He idly wondered if the man were hired to help the physicker flog his wares, or to defend him when his customers discovered they’d been duped. 

He looked to be even more miserable than Anthony felt, the rough blanket thrown over his broad shoulders as a cloak was surely well on its way to being soaked through and his feet and sturdy calves were bare despite the lateness of the season. Then Anthony noticed a chain hanging from the cart. He followed it back to the man and was appalled to discover he was collared like a recalcitrant dog. 

Anthony spurred Felix forward to the front of the coach. “Halt in the name of the King!” The driver stared at him for a moment, then hauled none too gently on the reins to bring the horses to a stop. He glared silently at Anthony for a moment, then an older man, bald and somewhat toadlike in appearance, stuck his head out through the cart door. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Rumlow? Why have we stopped?” 

“I am Sir Anthony of Stark.” He held out his royal medallion as proof of his words. “Slavery has been abolished in these lands. You must set your man free.” 

The driver scoffed while the older man -- presumably Master Zola -- simply smiled smugly. “He is not a slave, he is an indentured servant. Which is completely legal here, is it not?” He was correct; however, Anthony was not content to take his word for it, as it seemed unnecessary to keep a such a servant in chains. 

“May I see the contract?” While Anthony phrased it as a question, it was meant as a command. Rumlow reached towards the knife tucked into his belt, but Zola shook his head in dismissal. He then turned to Anthony, and with an oily grin, replied, “Of course, good sir. I have it right in here. Allow me to introduce myself. Arnim Zola, Physicker and Prognosticator.”

Anthony nodded stiffly, then dismounted, glancing back to the rear of the cart to see the perhaps-slave, perhaps-servant huddling under the scant overhang of the cart in an attempt to keep at least part of him from getting even wetter. Anthony entered the coach which was filled to near-bursting with vials, bottles, books and other miscellanea of a traveling learned man. After digging through a drawer for a few moments, Zola held up a scroll triumphantly. “Here we are!” 

Anthony snatched it from his hand and stepped back outside. He shielded the scroll from the rain with a corner of his cloak as he quickly scanned its contents. It seemed a standard contract, three years’ servitude in exchange for a considerable sum of money. Anthony was surprised to see an actual signature at the bottom instead of the mark of an illiterate. 

“You there,” Anthony called out. “You are James Barnes?” The man so addressed raised his shaggy head, and Anthony was startled to see piercing grey-blue eyes set in a clever-looking face, sporting a chiseled jaw and cheekbones made sharper with hunger. This was no dull-witted serf, fortunate to be under the care of his betters; rather he was a young, handsome man of clear and able wit being held against his will.

“Aye,” the man responded; his chary expression betraying uncertainty at what was to be asked of him. 

“You agreed to this contract?” Anthony held out the scroll. 

“That contract, yes. But not this.” As James held up the length of chain, Anthony observed both his arms were bare to the elbow, with the left badly scarred. By this time, both Zola and Rumlow had joined Anthony at the side of the cart. 

“And you wouldn’t be wearing that if you didn’t keep running away!” Zola admonished, as if speaking to a child. “We have an agreement, and if you cannot abide by it, then I must take appropriate measures.” Rumlow glowered at Barnes, his hand back on the hilt of his knife. 

Zola then turned back to Anthony. “But we needn’t stand here in the rain arguing. Let us wait until we are somewhere warm and dry to further discuss this situation.” He held out a hand towards the cart. “As we seem to have the same destination this miserable evening, would you care to join me in my humble abode for the remaining miles?” 

His tone bordered on obsequious, but Anthony suspected the overture was as much to keep him from asking James any more questions as it was to provide hospitality. However, Anthony was not so easily dissuaded. 

“I accept your kindness, Master Zola. In return, may I offer my horse to your servant? Felix is still relatively fresh and I’m sure James would appreciate the opportunity to rest. Perhaps you could even give him a respite from the collar, and simply bind his hands after he mounts?” 

“He’d steal your horse as soon as you turned your back, Sir Anthony.” Zola exclaimed. “He’s been no end of trouble, has that one.” 

“It’s harder than it looks to get Felix to do something he doesn’t want to,” Anthony replied. “But if you insist on keeping your servant,” and he put more than a touch of disdain into the word ‘servant’, “so closely guarded, can you at least extend his bonds?” 

Zola sneered but did as Anthony asked before getting back into the wagon. The chain now extended far enough to allow Felix to walk alongside the near corner of the coach without getting tangled in the wheels As James approached them warily, Anthony turned to speak to his horse.

“Now, Felix, James is a friend of mine. You be good to him, none of your tricks.” The horse nickered and stood quietly as James awkwardly mounted, clearly lacking full strength in his injured left arm. He was wearing only a long tunic and breechclout under the blanket, and Anthony tried not to stare at James’ bare thighs as they gripped the sides of his steed. He had not sought physical companionship during his time away, and a flicker of desire flared up in him at the sight of such an attractive man. 

“Thank you,” James said in a low voice as Zola gestured impatiently for Anthony to climb aboard.

The interior of Zola’s wagon was so cluttered and cramped that there was barely enough room for them both to sit comfortably. The physicker monopolized the conversation, telling tales of his recent exploits in the northern realms, where he “tended to the ailments of their bodies and the troubles of their souls.” He leaned forward, and in a confidential tone, added, “I’ve never seen so many cases of the great pox amongst so-called nobles. Thankfully I have an excellent cure and was able to help them, for a price. And you as well, good sir, if you should so be in need.” 

Anthony demurred, mildly embarrassed at such frank talk, and Zola chuckled, “Surely a knight as virile as yourself has enjoyed many bedmates, yes?” 

Anthony paused before answering; his carnal experiences had been fewer than most men of his years, as his chosen companions were only those he felt he could love with his heart as well as his body. “I’ve been both selective and fortunate.” Then, in an attempt to change the conversation, Anthony asked Zola where his next destination was.

“The capital, to offer my services to the king and his court.” 

“You realize you won’t be allowed to keep James in chains once we reach the city.” Any watchman passing by would insist that the servant be freed of his bonds; it was only the desolation of their current surroundings that had allowed Zola to keep James in such a manner. 

A arrogant grin slowly spread across Zola’s face. “I have other ways of controlling my property.” He gestured to a potion on the wall of the cart. “This one, for example, can make a man quite tractable.” 

Anthony struggled to keep a look of disgust and horror from his face. It was bad enough that James was being kept chained, but drugged as well? He made what was perhaps a rash decision, but he couldn’t stand by and let this situation continue. He would buy off the contract and set James free. 

“As you mentioned earlier, Master Zola,” Anthony replied, his voice much more mild than his mental state, “the boy is a troublesome creature, and surely your fine elixirs could be put to better, and more profitable use. Perhaps I could take him off your hands?” 

Zola’s grin grew wider. “What a kind offer, Sir Anthony. Alas, his contract was quite expensive. I would have to ask three solare for the remaining time.” He glanced back towards the wall of bottles. “And perhaps a lunare for a special elixir to ensure he is amenable to certain ... advances?” The grin had changed to a leer. 

Anthony feigned ignorance of Zola’s meaning, even as his heart beat more quickly. Not that he would ever take such advantage of anyone, but the mere thought of an amorous encounter with James couldn’t help but stir his blood. 

“In my profession,” Zola went on, “one learns to be extremely observant. You clearly find him attractive. Why not enjoy your acquisition to the fullest? Admittedly, you would not be the first to sample his wares, but I’m sure he still retains some charm.” 

Anthony was carrying just enough money to pay the price Zola was demanding, but it would leave him without funds to cover the next two days’ expenses. And while he could request credit on the strength of the royal medallion, the king’s exchequer would then demand an explanation. 

“While you certainly make him sound worth what you’re asking,” Anthony replied slowly and calmly, despite seething with outrage, “I’m afraid I can’t tie up that much of my current funds in such an indulgence. But do keep me in mind once we reach the capital.” 

“But of course, Sir Anthony.” The conversation turned towards the nobility of Anthony’s acquaintance, with Zola clearly attempting to ferret out information about potential clients. Anthony began to regret taking shelter in the wagon, but answered the physicker’s prying questions with the minimum of information to satisfy him. 

A knock on the roof of the carriage interrupted the conversation. Zola slid back a small hatch on the front wall of the coach, and Rumlow leaned down to tell them that they were coming up on an inn. The rays of the setting sun streamed through the hatch; it had stopped raining as well. 

“It seems we have reached our destination for the evening,” Zola stated. Anthony waited just long enough for the wagon to come to a stop before opening the door and escaping the cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Felix had halted alongside, clearly waiting for his rider to dismount, and James in turn seemed ready to do so.

However, the long hours on horseback had taken its toll. James moved stiffly as he swung his right leg over Felix’s rump, his left arm buckling instead of taking his weight. Anthony stepped in as James half-fell, half-slid off of the horse, catching him in his arms and steadying him. 

“Are you well, James?” Anthony asked, blaming his racing pulse on concern, not the intimacy of their current position. 

“I am now.” James’ storm-blue eyes met Anthony’s for a long moment as his cheeks reddened slightly. He turned his face away as he mumbled his thanks. “It’s been some time since I last rode, much less such a distance.” He moved gingerly, his thighs clearly sore and chafed; Anthony blinked away the thought of massaging a healing salve into them. 

Zola, a knowing smirk on his face, approached them. “Rumlow is seeing to the horses, and you, boy, will stay with the wagon. Having gotten your rest already, I expect you to remain alert and on guard overnight.” 

“Yes, sir,” James responded dully.

Anthony, unwilling to let Zola’s driver anywhere near his mount, walked Felix over to the stables himself and spoke with the hostler to request a measure of oats be added to the horse's feed. Upon entering the building, Anthony found himself greeted heartily by the innkeeper. “Welcome, sir knight! Your companion has indicated you will be requiring lodging this evening?” 

“He is a companion of convenience only, but yes.” By the time Anthony had finished making arrangements for a room and a meal, he saw that Zola and Rumlow had already insinuated themselves into a card game with the locals. Anthony took his stew and bread to a nearby table to observe the proceedings. 

The game of the evening was Royals, and there was already a good quantity of money on the table. Anthony considered himself an adept player -- skilled at reading both the cards and his fellow players -- and as he watched, he formulated a plan. Once the round was finished, a few players stepped away, giving Anthony the opportunity to be dealt in at a price of a dozen lunare; steep, but not unmanageable. 

There were six of them playing in total: himself, Zola and Rumlow, an older dark-skinned man who introduced himself as Magistrate Fury, his clerk -- a balding man who went by Phillip -- and a reserved brunette woman perhaps five years his junior who gave her name as Maria. Anthony started with bids on the conservative side as he developed a feel for the rhythm of play.

Rumlow was the first to drop out, as he played recklessly and with little skill, cursing as he lost the last few coins he’d tossed into the pot. As he stalked out of the inn, Anthony had half a mind to go and make sure the driver wouldn’t be taking out his temper on James, but as he had a larger scheme in play, he had to be patient. 

Maria, who had nearly doubled her earnings since Anthony had started watching, bowed out next. “Thank you for the game, gentlemen. It was entertaining... and profitable.” Phillip held on as long as he possibly could, until he was down to a single lunare. 

“Don’t worry, my friend. You’ll win some of it back from me tomorrow night,” Fury chuckled as he clapped Phillip on the back. “ I think the same exact solare has passed between us a dozen times this month already!” This seemed to mollify the clerk slightly as he bade his former tablemates a good night. 

That left three players, which changed the strategy considerably; however Anthony worked it to his favor. Zola had imbibed freely of the local ale over the evening and his attention was starting to slip. Fury got in an excellent bluff, leaving the physicker with only a few lunare on the table while the magistrate took in yet another haul. Anthony had intentionally played just well enough to cover Zola’s earlier offer for James’ contract; however, as he turned over his latest hand, an even better opportunity unfolded. 

Zola, as stubborn as he was unpleasant, ordered more ale with an impatient gesture. He gulped down over half of the tankard before eying the shared cards for the hand closely. The Queen and Lady of Hearts smiled placidly from their place in the middle of the table as he twisted a heavy gold ring on one hand. That was just the opening Anthony needed. 

“Master Zola, how much were you asking for the remainder of James’ contract again?” Anthony asked his question in a casual, almost bored voice, and the physicker’s eyes lit up. 

“Ah, yes.” Zola turned to the magistrate. “Your Honor, I have a fine young man who is indentured to me for six more months. Bright and hard-working. Educated ... and handsome.” He raised one eyebrow, but Fury didn’t seem interested in that particular aspect. “I was asking three solare for the remainder of his contract, but I could perhaps lower the price to two and a half in this situation?” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Anthony said, placing the matching coins in the center of the table. Zola shot him a suspicious look, but said nothing as he pulled a key from around his neck and set it on the table. Anthony clenched his jaw at seeing a physical reminder of James’ bonds. 

Fury raised an eyebrow at the key before examining his cards. He then sighed heavily, placing them face down and sliding them to the center of the table. “Alas, this round has grown too rich for my blood -- I fold. Do either of you wish to raise your bet further?” Both men declined, so Fury continued. “As you were the last to bet, the reveal falls to you, Master Zola.” 

Zola’s aspect was scarcely improved by his smile, which spread wide and gracelessly across his countenance as he laid down his cards. He held the Queen of Swords, along with the Lady of Diamonds and the Lady of Clubs. Combined with the shared Queen and Lady, it made a Double Queen’s Chamber -- a hand that would have won most games of Royals. 

But just as he reached for the coins in the center of the table, Anthony casually interrupted. “Just a moment, Master Zola.” As he showed his cards -- the King, Lord, and Knight of Hearts -- the crowd gasped. Combined with the shared cards, that gave him a natural Royal Court, the highest possible hand in the game. 

Zola turned red, clenching his fists as he struggled to find words. “Cheater!” he finally spat out. Rumlow, who had come back in for another drink, glared with undisguised hatred in Anthony’s direction as his hand once more stole to the hilt of his knife. 

“None of that, gentlemen,” Fury intoned, standing tall with his own sword at his side. “Sir Anthony played a clean game, as everyone here clearly observed. Fate is a fickle mistress, we must all remember that.” He eyed Rumlow sharply and continued. “While I would normally postpone business until the morning, I think it would be wise to initiate the transfer of the young man’s contract here and now. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” 

Zola glowered before reluctantly assenting, while Anthony hid his surprise at the sudden turn of events with an affable nod. Zola instructed Rumlow to fetch both the original contract and ‘the boy’ and Fury sent Phillip for ink and paper. The magistrate frowned when he saw James; it was clear even in the dim light of the tavern that his clothing was little more than rags, and he had not been well-fed. 

The innkeeper brought a lantern to the table, and Phillip quickly made a copy of the original scroll, with an addendum that detailed the transfer of James’ contract to Sir Anthony of Stark. Zola insisted on scrutinizing the new document, but when Fury handed it to Anthony, he passed it to James first. He read through it, albeit slowly, giving his assent when he had finished. The three of them signed the bottom, Zola with enough force to break the nib of the quill, requiring Phillip to recut it before Anthony could add his name. 

After charging Rumlow with watching the wagon -- which the man in turn took with poor grace -- Zola stalked upstairs to his rented room, slamming the door behind him. 

“It seems you have made an enemy, Sir Anthony,” Fury observed dryly. “Should I send for a guard?” 

“The offer is appreciated, Your Honor, but I suspect their bark is worse than their bite. Besides, the king did not knight me without reason.” While Anthony did not relish conflict, he was skilled in both swordplay and hand to hand combat and had no worries about his standing in a fight. 

“Then I believe I shall retire for the evening,” Fury replied. “I thank you for the game,” he paused as his eyes flicked to James, then back to Anthony, “and your quick wit. Safe travels.” 

Once the magistrate and his clerk left, the events of the evening finally caught up with Anthony, leaving him wanting nothing more than a comfortable bed. As he turned to mount the stairs, James caught his arm. 

“Where should I sleep, Master?” James’ form of address brought Anthony up short. 

“You need not call me ‘master’,” he replied firmly. “Nor anyone ever again. You are a free man, James Barnes; I will not enforce the contract. You may share my room tonight. Or,” and Anthony pressed a dozen lunare into the man’s hand, “you may rent your own room. Either way, in the morning you can return home.” 

James regarded him for a moment, then carefully tied the coins into a corner of his tunic. “Home’s a long way from here, Sir. I would be grateful for the offer of hospitality.” Now that he had spoken more than a handful of words, Anthony could detect a northern accent, to match James’ dark hair and blue eyes. 

Anthony asked for a pitcher of hot water, another bowl of stew and a platter of bread to be brought upstairs, and bent to pick up the saddlebags he’d brought in with him. James nudged him aside, lifting them to his own shoulders before gesturing for Anthony to lead the way. A sudden, perhaps foolish impulse struck as they reached the rented room. “I need not be ‘Sir’ either. To my friends, I am simply Anthony.” 

A small smile crossed James’ lips. It was the first Anthony had seen from him, and it made the young man even more attractive. “Call me Bucky, then.” 

“Bucky?” 

At Anthony’s query, Bucky’s smile grew wider and he tapped the tip of his tongue on his front teeth. “T’were quite large when I was a child.” 

Anthony chuckled in reply as a warm feeling blossomed in his chest; perhaps the two of them could at least be friends. They entered the room to find a fire had already been laid, taking the chill off the room. At Anthony’s suggestion, Bucky hung his blanket cloak to dry. 

The innkeeper himself brought the requested items to their door, along with a sturdy cudgel. “Just in case,” he explained, offering it to Anthony. “I don’t care for the looks of that physicker’s man.” 

“I thank you for your concern,” Anthony replied, taking the items from the inkeep’s hands. “I hope not to cause any further trouble. We will be on our way in the morning.” 

Anthony took the stew and bread to Bucky, who was hunkered down next to the fire, trying to warm himself; spending the day in the cold rain had clearly chilled him to the bone. He ate slowly and carefully despite surely being ravenous; so Anthony made small talk to help put his companion at ease, sharing stories of the lighter events of his recent travels. 

“Where do you hail from, Bucky?” he finally asked. 

“A small town in the northlands. Brooklea. My father was a blacksmith there, and I was learning the trade.” Anthony noted the reluctance in his companion’s voice, but his curiosity got the best of him. 

“What happened, if I may ask, to bind you to Zola?” 

“An explosion at the forge. It took my father’s life and gave me these,” he gestured to his scarred arm. “My mother died of a broken heart not long afterwards. We had debts, and my sister needed a dowry.” He shrugged. “It was the only way.”

He might say that, but Anthony knew many men who would have made a different, less honorable choice. “And now?” 

Bucky’s reply was solemn. “It seems I belong to you.” 

In response, Anthony pulled out the contract. “I am a man of my word. As I said earlier, I consider this contract null and void. Would you rather I toss it in the fire now, or wait til the morning where there will be witnesses?” 

“You can’t be serious? You would throw away whatever you paid Zola for me?” As Anthony explained how he had won the contract at a game of cards, Bucky’s expression went from bewildered to amused. As hearing the amount of the bet, he commented with a rueful laugh, “I had not thought he valued me so highly.” As Bucky rubbed at the bruises on his neck absent-mindedly, Anthony’s pulse raced; whether in anger or desire he couldn’t be quite sure. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Anthony,” Bucky added, with a soft smile. “And neither, I suspect, has Zola. Destroying the contract can wait til morning. With luck, the toad will be there to see it go up in smoke.” 

Anthony tucked the scroll into a saddlebag, then, as he faced Bucky once again, asked, “And where will you go, now you are well and truly free?” 

He shook his head slowly, his mood going somber once again. “There’s nothing left for me in Brooklea. Not after all that has passed.” 

“There’s jobs in the capital,” Anthony suggested. “Scribes are always sought after in Merchant’s Row. You could get a fresh start; your history needn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know a soul there,” came the melancholic reply.

“You know me,” Anthony said, clasping Bucky’s shoulder, “and I know many souls, some of which could use a good man in their employ. But we can talk more on the way. For now, I suggest we prepare for bed.” 

After a quick wash of his face and hands, Anthony offered the rest of the warm water and a spare nightshirt to Bucky , turning his back to give his companion what little privacy was possible. He could barely hear the splash of water over the thudding of his heart as his imagination ran rampant, knowing that Bucky most likely stood nude just scant feet behind him. Having seen his companion made merry, Anthony couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like in the throes of pleasure. 

A knock pulled Anthony from his reverie. Taking the cudgel in one hand, he cautiously opened the door just a crack. He was startled to see Zola standing outside his room. “I must apologize for my behavior, Sir Anthony.” The physicker sounded contrite, but there was a calculating look in his eye. “I brought you a little something.” He held up a small pouch. 

Now that Anthony had no need to stay on Zola’s good side, he prepared to tell the man exactly what he thought of him. But before he could open his mouth to castigate the duplicitous mountebank and refuse his gift, Zola opened the pouch and threw its contents in Anthony’s face, following it with a quick poke to the ribs.

Anthony’s gasp of surprise and pain caused him to inhale a good portion of the acrid yellow powder that had been in the pouch, the rest spattering across his face and shirt, stinging as it got in his eyes. 

“Now you have no choice but to indulge your desires,” Zola gloated. His voice was somewhat muffled as he held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, but the unholy glee in his eyes was quite clear. “I almost wish I could stay to observe the results, but I suspect I have worn out my welcome. I bid you adieu.” 

Anthony, his eyes watering and throat burning, was left speechless as he staggered back from the door. Every nerve in his body was suddenly set ablaze; the sensation passing almost as quickly as it had arrived. The heat contracted and concentrated low in his belly, and a sharp pang of lust ran through him, so strong he nearly went to his knees. 

Anthony realized to his horror that Zola must have dosed him with that compound he had mentioned during their ride, the one meant to arouse a man’s amorous nature. Not only had he been dosed, but assaulted with a surfeit of the substance. Anthony’s manhood strained against his breeches as his pulse raced and his breaths grew fast and shallow.

“Anthony?” Bucky turned from the window where he’d been disposing of the wash water, having just donned the nightshirt. “What happened?” He quickly crossed the room to stand at Anthony’s side, swiping a finger through the remains of the infernal powder. He sniffed carefully at it, his expression changing from confusion to dismay and concern. 

“Zola,” Anthony rasped out, and Bucky nodded grimly. He stepped away to grab a wet cloth, returning to gently wipe the remaining powder from Anthony’s face. The intense sensation from such a simple touch brought a unbidden groan to Anthony’s lips, and a blush to his cheeks. 

“I know,” Bucky reassured him, placing a comforting hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I know. It’s a terrible feeling, to be such a slave to base urges.” He lead Anthony towards the bed, motioning him to sit on the edge after pulling back the covers. Bucky then sank to his knees, removing Anthony’s boots. “It will pass in a few hours if you do nothing, less time if you satisfy yourself, but it will not be easy either way.” 

Bucky looked up at Anthony, determination and tenderness showing in equal amounts in his expression. “I can help, if you will let me.” His voice, soft and husky, sent a thrill up Anthony’s spine even as he was convinced that he had misheard; Bucky surely couldn’t be making the offer he seemed to be. 

“I can’t ask this of you,” Anthony protested hoarsely, “You owe me nothing.” 

“That’s for me to decide.” Nonetheless, as Bucky ran his hands up Anthony’s thighs, he paused to search Anthony’s face for confirmation. And God help him, Anthony nodded, his body (and perhaps his heart as well) aching for attention. 

Bucky proceeded to unlace Anthony’s breeches. He gasped as his stiff, aching member was freed, the cool air a shock against his heated skin. When Bucky took him in hand, Anthony had to bite his lips to stifle a throaty moan. 

Despite his work-roughened palms, Bucky’s touch was deft and sure, every stroke sending Anthony’s pleasure skyward. He found himself on the edge of ecstasy almost embarrassingly quickly, but didn’t topple over until Bucky placed lips on his manhood, engulfing him in wetness and warmth. Anthony came back to himself with tears on his cheeks, mumbling apologies. “I’m so sorry, Bucky, I never meant to... you must hate me.” 

Bucky shook his head slowly as he ran the pad of his thumb over one of Anthony’s cheeks, wiping the moisture away “Of course not. Why would I? You have been nothing but kind to me. What I have done has been of my own free will, and by my choice. Now, rest.” He nudged gently at Anthony’s shoulder to encourage him to lay down. 

Anthony gratefully sank back on the bed, emotionally and physically exhausted, barely able to assist as Bucky removed his breeches and pulled the blankets up over him. Bucky then turned the lantern down and sat on the floor, his back against the door and the cudgel across his lap. Anthony called out quietly across the room, “Bucky? What are you doing?” 

“Making sure nothing else happens tonight. Go to sleep.” 

But neither the the flames of desire -- only temporarily banked -- nor the knot of shame burning in his guts would let him be. Bucky might think it was only Zola’s powder that inflamed his physical ardor, but Anthony knew otherwise. He had been attracted to the young man from the moment he first saw him and couldn’t deny how much he had enjoyed what had just transpired. 

Anthony tossed and turned, unable to find rest or respite. His companion seemed restless as well; not surprising, as the floor was both hard and cold. He finally called out to Bucky to wedge the cudgel against the door so as to prevent it being opened from the outside, and to make himself more comfortable by joining him.. 

The bed dipped as he lay down and Anthony’s pulse raced once again, his body responding to another’s proximity. He attempted to lie quietly, to allow Bucky the rest he so richly deserved, but he couldn’t relax. 

“Anthony, what color was the powder? ” Bucky asked, his voice husky. 

“Yellow, why?” 

Bucky rolled over to face Anthony. “It is his most potent concoction. I speak from experience.” Moonlight streaming into the room lit his features, revealing what seemed a longing expression in his eyes. But surely that was Anthony’s imagination, an unfounded fancy. “It affects not only the person dosed, but those with whom he interacts.” 

Guilt flared in Anthony’s chest -- his moment of weakness in front of Zola had ensnared them both. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.” 

“Don’t be.” The reply was gentle and accompanied by his hand tracing Anthony’s cheek and jaw before cupping under his chin and pulling him forward into a kiss. It was tender and sweet and took Anthony completely by surprise. But he responded in kind, reining in his own ardor and following Bucky’ lead. 

As the passion of their embrace slowly increased, Anthony was thrilled to feel his bedmate’s manhood pressing hot and hard against his thigh. It stirred an unaccustomed (but not unwelcome) sensation in him, a hollow ache in his core that he soon found impossible to ignore.

“Bucky,” he breathed, “I need you. Lie with me.” 

Bucky stilled and Anthony feared he had pushed him too far. “Are you sure of what you ask?” The question was low and urgent. 

“Aye.” He had played both roles with the few men he’d been intimate with; he knew what to expect, as well as how pleasurable it could truly be. “I have ... some experience. And ‘tis not just the powder talking, Bucky, I swear.” 

Bucky’ eyes darkened with desire at Anthony’s words. “Nor I.” His fierce kiss took Anthony’s breath away. “But such a pastime requires provisions--” 

“There’s a vial of rose oil in my bag,” Anthony interrupted. “‘Twas meant as a present for a friend, but it will do.” Bucky’ response -- a wordless groan -- was all Anthony needed as encouragement. 

He ran his hand up Bucky’ thigh, dipping between them to wrap a hand firmly around his member, already slick with emissions. Bucky rocked into his grip, gasping into Anthony’s mouth. His partner’s reactions fanned the flames of Anthony’s desire; murmuring, “Just a moment,” he slipped away to rifle through his bag. Anthony returned with the vial of oil in one hand and a towel in the other. He spread the latter on the bed and handed the former to Bucky. “Here, put it to good use.” 

Anthony stripped off his shirt, the gooseflesh on his skin a reaction both to the chill of the room and anticipation of what was next. He lay face down on the bed, and with a hum of appreciation, Bucky stretched out alongside. Anthony sighed in pleasure as one broad, warm hand caressed him, starting at the nape of his neck and working its way down to the curve of his buttocks. When a single finger slid briefly into his cleft, Anthony groaned and begged for more. 

“All in good time, dear one,” Bucky breathed into his ear. A moment later, the scent of roses filled the air. Now slippery with oil, Bucky’s fingers trailed nimbly up Anthony’s thigh, stopping to rub against his entrance. Anthony arched his back in response and spread his legs eagerly. Bucky murmured words of reassurance and praise as he carefully breached Anthony, first with a single finger, then two. 

Lost in bliss, Anthony could do little more than moan and sigh, his hands clutching at the bedclothes. When told to rise to his knees, he was eager to obey, despite whimpering at the removal of those clever fingers. But it was only a moment until Bucky’s stiff, proud member was pressing in, the sudden stretch and burn making Anthony hiss involuntarily.

With a whispered apology, Bucky pulled back and a warm drizzle of oil covered where their bodies were joined. Anthony panted softly as his bedmate resumed his slow slide, willing his muscles to relax and accept what would soon be exquisitely pleasurable. Bucky held his hips, thumbs stroking comforting circles on Anthony’s heated skin as he completed their union. “Are you well, my sweet?” 

Anthony nodded, the heady urge to couple filling his senses and stealing his words. He pushed back in invitation, and they began the age-old dance. Anthony’s member hung weightily between his legs, swaying with each thrust until Bucky reached forward and grasped it firmly with an oil-covered hand. Wanton groans escaped Anthony’s lips as they rocked back and forth, climbing the peak of pleasure together. Bucky couldn’t keep silent either; his moans and gasps were music to Anthony’s ears. 

Bucky’s thrusts grew erratic and stars burst behind Anthony’s eyes as they reached climax together, voices joined in a wordless cry. Slumping down into the bed, his lover’s body a warm weight atop him, Anthony drifted in a euphoric haze. He barely felt Bucky’s withdrawal, and cared not that he rested in a damp spot with one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. 

But even as the lustful fire in his veins cooled and ebbed, a flicker of warmth blossomed to life in Anthony’s breast. The care and concern Bucky had shown him during their tryst, the endearments, could they be harbingers of something more? He knew his own feelings towards his companion were not simply those of carnal obsession; he genuinely liked and admired the man. Was it too much to hope those feelings could be returned?

“Anthony,” Bucky murmured, “if I overstepped my bounds, said or did more than I ought, I beg your pardon. It has been too long since I have been the recipient of simple kindness, and mayhap I assumed too much.” 

Anthony turned to face his bedmate and reached out to stroke his cheek. “No, dear heart, it is I who should beg yours. I should have broken your bonds the minute we met, and damned Zola and his minion to hell.” 

“No matter,” came the soft reply, “for we are together now, my knight, and I would join you in your triumphant return to your lord’s castle.” 

Anthony chuckled. “And will you give me a favor, to wear on my lance when I charge into battle?” he teased. 

“Alas,” Bucky replied, “AlI I own you see in this room.” His face grew serious. “I can offer you nothing but my regard, Anthony ... and perhaps, my heart as well.” 

Anthony pulled Bucky close and kissed him softly. “Treasure more precious than any jewel or silken scarf, my love.” He curled into his companion’s embrace, and they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
